


The Gakuen Play

by violetlolitapop



Series: Perestroika [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gakuen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 11:35:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4704647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetlolitapop/pseuds/violetlolitapop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why are you here?” America asks.</p>
<p>Russia, for all of the indifference he may put on for the other, knows. He knows that it is odd for him to be so considerate in bringing America his dinner so that he may not go hungry. That it is odd for him to play each game America speaks of enthusiastically so that he can go out of his way to criticize. But that does not mean that he will say any of that aloud.</p>
<p>“I suppose,” he says carefully. “For the same reason you allowed me to stay.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gakuen Play

It's either because of Russia's impeccable hearing or America's own being subpar that has him immediately recognize the sound of video game gunfire the moment Russia turns the corner and enters this particular hallway lined with dorm rooms. Or perhaps Cuba had been entirely in his right to complain (just as loudly, in Russia's opinion) about the noise coming out from one specific room. In any case, Russia comes to stand in front of the door nearly vibrating on its hinges with a new predicament that must be dealt with.

Climbing up to this level with a plate in each hand, ladled with a serving of everything from dinner, had not been a problem. But now, unless he takes the option of stacking one plate on top the other, Russia is at a bit of a loss as to what to do. He doesn't want to ruin his own food, and he doesn’t want to dirty the bottom of his plate. Eventually, he settles for the most logical choice and kicks at the door.

Three loud thumps at the door and the noise comes to a stop. It's almost a little eerie as to how quiet the hall becomes so quickly.

He doesn't have the time to ponder the thought though. From the other side he can hear the familiar mutters and slight stumbles of clumsy footsteps bumbling towards the door.

"Yeah, what is it?" America asks while opening the door. When he sees who it is he instantly makes a face. "What d'you want?"

However annoyed he may seem that doesn't stop Russia in the slightest.

"America! I had been wondering where you might be when I did not see you in the dining hall gorging yourself like always. Though I will say your absence made for the meal to look far more appetizing."

"So, what? You came up here to annoy me, insult me, or for an actual something?"

"You wound me! Even after I come all this way to bring you a meal you must be aching for?"

"I'm not hungry!"

The sudden gurgle and growl of his stomach does not change America's expression at all. He still maintains eye contact with Russia looking as cool as ever.

"I'm a little hungry," he finally says and holds his hand out for the plate of food.

Russia sounds pleased as he hands it over, but he quickly sounds distressed when America steps back into his room and ready to shut the door.

"Even after my considerate gesture, you won't even extend an invitation to join you? Even I think this is a new low for you, America."

"Oh my god, you are so annoying. Get your ass in here."

There is no hesitation. Russia walks right into America's dorm and makes himself right at home. After picking through the sea of scattered clothing, books, and pieces of old fast food wrappers, Russia sits in the only cleared spot -there is in the room; America's bed. If the other has a problem with such he says nothing. Instead of saying anything, America takes the spot next to him after shoving aside his crumpled blankets and a few pillows.

"Oh, yes, I almost forgot," says Russia, and he reaches into the inside of his jacket. From the inside pocket he pulls out two sets of silverware wrapped carefully in a napkin each. He hands one off to America who takes it without a word.

He doesn't say anything about it. Russia only balances his meal on his lap and does the best he can to eat. America on the other hand, places his off to the side and picks up the game controller once more. The noise comes back louder than ever now that he's on the other side. He already knows the game America is playing, seeing the same character he himself has played enter a stolen car and speed off, and crashing into street lights and people along the way.

"You mind if I watch TV?" America asks. "I can't play while I'm eating so I usually go back to his apartment to watch stuff."

"You watch television in a video game that requires a television to play."

"Point?"

"I'm not a fan of the show parodies they have in this game."

America pauses the game.

"You've played this before?" he asks.

"At a lower volume, yes. I played it through once when you made the big deal about Russians being involved.”

“I didn’t make a big deal out of it,” America says with pink cheeks. “I was just surprised about how they turned on Niko is all.”

Russia hums happily and goes on to say, “In any case, I do play every game you've told me about. It is like a small independent project of mine to understand how obsessed Americans are with Russians."

"That's total bullshit."

"Russians are either the villains, the allies, the companion, or the protagonist in the majority of American video games."

"Okay, that sounds like it's only in games like Call of Duty or something."

"And how many of those are there?"

America turns his attention away from him and goes back to his game.

"Whatever."

With the game unpaused, America does not talk to Russia and Russia does not make to start a new conversation. He quietly goes back to his meal as the blond changes his route and speeds down a different set of streets. It's been some time since he's played, he can't say that he honestly remembers where things are, but some parts of the scenery look familiar, and when Alfred's character finally slows down in a certain neighborhood, he's not surprised in the least when it's the rather slummy looking Eastern European part of the game.

"You ever watch the shows here?" America asks him as he walks right into a small theater with a small crowd gathered in front of it. "I don't know how you play games-"

"I have been to the shows," Russia answers. "I... was not entirely impressed."

"Really? Thought it'd remind you of home or something."

"At home, we have Russians on the stage of a Russian theater. Not American junkies and two-bit American magicians with anger problems."

"There's that juggling guy, I'm pretty sure he was Russian. And that other one that did the cowboy act, he was probably Russia."

"No, I think they are all American."

"You brought me food and I'm a little grateful for that, so I'm gonna go ahead and cut this conversation before I end up shoving it in your face."

It's the opening to a really smart retort Russia is dying to use. He holds himself back with a forkful of potatoes and smiles at the unsaid joke to himself. He does however, ask why America seems to be replaying a game he clearly has gone through before. America only answers that he's been wanting to replay it lately, no special reason or anything, just felt like it.

"Y'know say what you want about Bluesy St. John," America says when the screen comes back from the fade out and the in-game show begins. "But she's got a nice voice. It's not her fault she's had a rough life."

"Hm, no. Just the societal oppression brought down on her by her own government."

"Yes, because your place is leading the march in humanitarianism."

There's not much he can say in defense to that, and though any other time anything left to say would lead to a series of thrown punches, Russia can't say that it's what he wants at that particular moment. Instead, he remains at America's side in this small mess of a dorm room with a plate filled with a half-eaten meal, quiet and observant. For reasons of his own.

“Suburban Homicide would be a good name for a punk band.”

America’s comment is made off handedly, and Russia looks over to him again as he continues to shovel food into his mouth at an unbelievable pace. He takes a moment to marvel at the sight up close, it’s truly something to behold and quite different from watching it across from a crowded cafeteria.

“I was not aware that you liked punk music,” says Russia, and America stops eating.

“I don’t. England does though. We end up listening to it a lot in his room.”

If America notices the small bit of purple aura that radiates off of Russia at the mention of England he says nothing of it. Russia doesn’t fully acknowledge it either.

“Can it be that America is becoming more considerate?” Russia means for his tone to be light and teasing, but even he can’t help the slight tightness to his words. “That is a thought I never would have entertained.”

“I can be considerate, ya jackass,” America huffs. “He puts up with my music in here, so I put up with his. It’s not like when we were thinking of starting a band or anything.”

This is news to Russia. He never did hear about this attempt to make music together. He ends up setting his plate aside. He’s lost his appetite.

“I can only imagine how England could react to seeing your bedroom in such a mess.”

“I usually clean up before he comes over.”

Russia pulls a mocking long face. “And yet you do not extend the same courtesy to me. That’s favoritism.”

“I didn’t even know you were going to show up,” America says as he too puts his meal off to the side. The show within the game is over, he takes back the controller. “Seriously, you pull this kind of shit all the time, I stopped trying to figure out what you’re doing or when you’ll be doing it.”

They fall into a tense silence. Russia has no idea what America may be implying with his words in the same way that he really isn’t completely ready to accept the reason he is upset with the idea of him and England spending time together in private.

“You appear very ready to accept my sudden arrivals into your life,” Russia says quietly.

“Yeah, well….” America trails off just as quietly.

Again, the silence is tense. America reaches for his remote and turns down the volume of his game. He continues to play, until finally he pauses.

“Why are you here?” he asks.

Russia, for all of the indifference he may put on for the other, knows. He knows that it is odd for him to be so considerate in bringing America his dinner so that he may not go hungry. That it is odd for him to play each game America speaks of enthusiastically so that he can go out of his way to criticize. But that does not mean that he will say any of that aloud.

“I suppose,” he says carefully. “For the same reason you allowed me to stay.”

America has his tells, and Russia knows them all. America blinks three time, each time slow and deliberate. His breathing is also slower, and deeper. It’s his attempt to remain impassive and calm. It’s an attempt to tell Russia silently that he has no idea what he means.

America returns to his game. His next mission begins and there are characters with overdone and heavy Russian accents. Russia can feel his body tense up next to his, no matter how much distance there may be between them.

“Always a Russian,” he says, and nothing more.

Next to him, America breathes out heavily through his nose.

“The main character is from Serbia.”

He’s right. The main character is from Serbia. The Russians are the villains, and they usually are. It makes him wonder…

“You are right. He is.”

They don’t speak anymore. Their meals are forgotten and it’s easy to slip into the quiet of America playing his game and Russia silently watching. It’s still not comfortable, and both doubt that it ever really will be again. It wasn’t always like this, but it is now.

It’s just how it is.

**Author's Note:**

> -remember perestroika?
> 
> -i started writing these snippets when that went down. never published them so i am now.


End file.
